Lovers of Dark Ambient's shadowy recesses take note: this latest Type release brings the haunted NewMexican soundworld of William Fowler Collins to the world - and it's one of the most relentless collectionsof dense and harrowing midnight music you'll likely have the pleasure of hearing. Flicking through thisrecord - skimming the surface of these crumbling, derelict sonic constructions - feels like intercepting ashortwave broadcast from the hereafter. It all points towards something sinister and most unwholesome,but to give all this context, it's worth noting that Collins' talent has been incubating for some time: his CVtells of years spent studying electronic music at Mills College under the tutelage of iconic figures likePauline Oliveiros, Alvin Curran and Fred Frith (having also performed and collaborated with Matmos, IkueMori and Brightblack Morning Light in the lead up to this album's making). This musical backgroundcombines with the harsh, desert topography of Collins' Albuquerque home in rendering a sonic portrait ofAmericana's dark underbelly, beginning with 'The Hour Of Red Glare', whose stormy introduction - full ofthunderclap noise surges - announces the album's nefarious intentions. Immediately, images of a guitar-slinging, American gothic counterpart to the Nordic doom merchantry of Deathprod and Svarte Greinerspring to mind; its maudlin intensity and dust-devil dynamics serving as a powerful introduction, teeteringon the verge of outright black metal - imagine Xasthur wearing a stetson, if you will. 'Grave Robbing InTexas' offers a slightly more introspective slant on that sound, retreating into a quivering mass of tapemurk and snarling sustains that's likely to give your ears friction burns if you spend too much time with it.The vast 'Dark Country Road' soon comes along, opening with a lighter, more outward-looking sound,initially howling harmoniusly like some ghouls' choir before retreating into an uncomfortable near-silencearound the eight-minute mark. During this stint, static hangs in the air while unidentifiable clanking,scratching and whining from various obscured field recordings creeps under your skin. At over twenty-oneminutes this might be the most engrossibg piece of music on the album, but it's arguably the most strikingtoo - luring you away into its uncanny nightscape. There's still plenty more to come, however: you'll hear amore vicious, metallic take on Tim Hecker's saturated drones during 'On Perdition Hill' and even better,'Slow Motion Prayer Cycle' grinds away like a decrepit old phonograph cylinder worn down to nothing.Finally, you can hear a few strands of sunlight starting to break into the mix during closing track 'TheGhosts Of Eden Trail'; warm, major-key tones shimmer across its expanse before eventually evaporatinginto the harsh New Mexico wind from whence it came. An immense and fiendish album - ESSENTIALPURCHASE.